Misery Loves Company
by theconsultingtardisbananaangel
Summary: Adam Milligan moves to the small town of Casper Falls with his mother after being severely abused by his stepfather, Michael. He's a loner, a misfit, and a social recluse, but everyone seems to associate him with another new kid, a strange boy with a stranger name and some pretty harssh baggage of his own. High school AU. Adamandriel. Rating may increase.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Well, I recently laid eyes upon the promotional pictures for season 9, and behind Sam and Dean there is a mysterious figure crawling his way out of the ground. It got me thinking about Adam. And then I was thinking about how much I shipped Adamandriel (Adam x Samandriel), the main premise being that Samandriel is to Adam as Castiel is to Dean: the rescuer/puller-out-of-hell/savior/cutesy gay lover. Despite the fact that they never even appear in the same season, I ship it. Hard. I have since Samandriel first showed up. Even though they're both dead, I can still ship it. Still a better love story than Twilight.**

**On a separate note, this fic probably won't be updated that often. Muse is a fickle thing and I am currently completely drowning in the world of All The King's Men, my ongoing hiatus fic. Add that to recovery from a surgery and some pretty intense painkillers... Well, you have one me on a lot of painkillers and therefore having a lot of odd ideas.**

* * *

Adam Milligan's life had been profoundly miserable upon arrival in Casper Falls, a small, off-the-map town in New England. Scratch that- Adam Milligan's life had been profoundly miserable since he was born.

He was the child of a breif fling between a college proffessor and his much-younger student, his mother, Kate. He rarely saw his father, and when he did, their encounters were brief and awkward. There was no romance between his parents, and he suspected that his father had never really gotten over the death of his wife, the mother of his older half-brothers. The two young men had tried to keep in touch with Adam, but weekly phone calls and the occasional postcard had dwindled to just about nothing.

Then, there was Michael.

His mother had been dating Michael for about a year when they moved into his stately manor. Michael was a well-respected man, the mayor of their town, and ostentaciously rich, too. He doted upon Kate and initially, he showered Adam with gifts. Adam didn't care too much for the man, but he liked having the latest iPhones and the little blue hybrid car he had recieved for his sixteenth birthday. He was okay with his life, in general.

Then, the abuse started. Michael threw the remote control at his head once while they watched television, giving him a nasty purple bruise. Adam had tried to complain, but Kate thought he was stirring up trouble. Michael continued to hurt Adam, and Kate saw it as an attempt to drive a wedge between them. Finally, when Michael gave him a severe concussion, Kate realized her mistake and they ran, not pressing charges for fear of Michael's attorneys.

Now, hundreds of miles away, he still had his iPhone and his car, his mother and his fancy clothes, but he had no friends, no life, nothing to make him happy. Only the memories of years of severe abuse, physical, emotional, and mental.

And to top it all off, he started at a brand new high school in a week, a month into the school year, as a junior.

Great.

He looked around his new bedroom. The sole reason they were living in Casper Falls was that Kate had a great-uncle who had a stepson who was now getting on in his years, and he needed someone to help him get around and take care of the house. Kate would be live-in nurse, companion, caretaker, and general baby-sitter until the man passed away. The living will didn't name an heir, and Kate and Adam were both tacitly hoping that if they got in the man's good favor, it would be theirs alone after his death.

Not that they wished him dead, of course.

The room was dismal at best. Being wheelchair-ridden for a year had kept Mr. Zachariah Angelus out of the upstairs part of the house. It was in desperate need of a mop. And a duster, and a vacuum cleaner, and a new set of curtains...

Adam flopped backwards onto the bed, coughing at the cloud of dust that rose around him.

And thus began another era in the miserable life of Adam Milligan.

* * *

**Do I continue? Do I not continue? Help!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Enter Samandriel.**

* * *

"Dishes, Samandriel."

"Yes, sir," Samandriel said reluctantly, getting up to clear away his family's plates, cups, silverware, bowls, et cetera. His father sat at one end of the table, his mother at the foot, five of the children on each side, the dinner laid across it. It always reminded Samandriel of a scene in Great Expectations where the main character stumbled across a long-forgotten wedding feast; the tables set and ready, but the hall untouched for fifty years. His foster siblings sat starchly at their places, waiting to be dismissed.

"Naomi, my wine," his foster father demanded.

"Yes, sir," Naomi replied and hurried into the kitchen after Samandriel, who struggled with a huge handful of plates. She pushed past him, making a saucer sway precariously. Samandriel tried desperately to regain balance, and finally dumped the dishes into the sink with a clatter. Frantically, he checked to make certain nothing had shattered. Naomi regarded him, her face unreadable, as she retrieved a wine glass from the cupboard.

Samandriel made his way back out to the dining room for another armload of dishes. His foster family watched him carefully, unspeaking, as he cleared the table. He was the newest, moved in after the group home he'd been living in didn't work out. Therefore, he was the runt, the scapegoat, the punching bag. His foster mother and father were pious, stoic folk who prayed after they woke up, before they ate, in the evening, and before they slept, not to mention services on Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings.

He'd quickly figured out that you did not speak to 'Father', as he demanded to be called, or 'Mother' without being addressed directly beforehand. You did as they asked: holding hands during grace, attending church, doing chores at any hour of the day, get good grades and don't ever act out.

The kids who had been here longest had formed a sort of gang. There were five in all, older, lurking figures whose command was second only to Father's. Yuri, adopted from Russia only to have his new parents killed in a car crash. Luca, abandoned as a baby and with violent temper tantrums. Ian, a brutish boy who was no older than Samandriel but was easily a foot taller. He was a grunt, doing what his foster brothers commanded without question. Then there were the twins, Matt and Anna, who communicated wordlessly and always presented a united front. Matt loved stories, and would reward the newest arrivals in exchange for stolen books. He had a closet entirely full with books, and Samandriel longed to steal one or two.

The other kids were grouped loosely around the oldest five. Gabriel, almost eighteen and about to be dumped from the system, was morose and independent. Everyone left him alone, subconsciously afraid to acknowledge the truth of the system: they would all end up like Gabe one day; alone, homeless, and ultimately worthless.

Naomi and Hester were friends, an inseparable duo. Hester was kind but scheming and manipulative under her gentle shell. Naomi was plain flighty, an excellent thief. Then there was Raphael, a shrimpy boy of about eleven who tagged along with Michael and tattled on anyone who dared to put a toe out of line.

Finally, there was Samandriel, who had arrived three weeks ago from a group home when he was deemed 'unfit' for the situation. This one wasn't any better, there were less children but more chores and no books.

Samandriel reached past Anna's shoulder to take her plate, and she smiled briefly at him before returning her gaze to rest straight ahead at Raphael.

Nobody was allowed to leave the table until the dishes were collected, washed and dried. They were not allowed to assist the assigned child and the process was slow. Often, Samandriel had struggled to get the dishes done within an hour. Then, his siblings, Luca and Ian especially, would punish him for his slowness.

Most nights Samandriel did not get to bed until at least one in the morning, after chores and punishments and homework and prayers. He would collapse in bed, too tired to worry about what life would be like once he was no longer a ward of the state.

He was sixteen years old and had never had any sort of friendship in his life. He lived for the nights, when he could get five or six hours of sleep, albeit restless, and forget for a while.

* * *

**I don't really have any clear ideas of where to take this story. Any and all suggestions are welcome!**


End file.
